


I Moustache You A Question

by Skyson



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyson/pseuds/Skyson
Summary: Just a little fun imagining Phil with a moustache.





	I Moustache You A Question

**Author's Note:**

> For @shelbyshouseoffandoms on Tumblr, who agreed with me that Coulson’s lack of facial hair in Captain Marvel was a serious lost opportunity, and who brought up the question "what if Daisy discovered that Coulson had a moustache in the 90s?"

“What. Is. _This_.” Daisy squealed; an excited noise that Coulson hadn’t heard from her in quite a long while. He paused, stepping closer to the doorway of the storage room that he’d been passing.

Daisy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, an old file box opened in front of her. Papers and other various items were strewn about around her, in some form of organization that Coulson didn’t immediately recognize. Jemma was standing a few paces away, going through the second drawer of a beat-up metal filing cabinet.

“Are you two taking inventory, or goofing off?” Coulson teased, leaning his shoulder against the door frame as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“A little of both,” Jemma admitted with a smile, and Coulson gave her a small smile in return. It was nice to see the two of them so relaxed. Although he was a bit surprised by it, considering neither of them had much patience for inventory duty.

“Jemma!” Daisy shouted as if her friend wasn’t in the same room with her. She set down the manila folder that she’d been holding, and brandished a photo she’d pulled from it. “Jemma, _look_.”

Coulson curiously but patiently watched as Jemma approached her friend and crouched next to her to check out whatever it was that amazed Daisy so.

“Oh!” Jemma stared, and then glanced up at Coulson before staring back at the photo. “ _Oh_.” She sounded almost grave, and Daisy snorted. Daisy pulled the photo close again, and ran her finger along it thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Coulson wondered.

“History,” Daisy answered distractedly, setting the photo aside as she reached for the file it had come from. “What year was this, again? Ohhh, the nineties - you know what, that actually makes sense.”

“The nineties?” Coulson perked up, and furrowed his brow. He thought a majority of the information from that decade had been destroyed when the Triskelion went down. “That’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. file from the nineteen-nineties?”

“Oh yeah,” Daisy grinned, and her expression when she looked up at him made his brow furrow even deeper. “And look at _you_. How old were you then? My age? Thirties?”

“Me?” He straightened off of the door frame and entered the room. “What are you talking about?”

Daisy snatched the photo up from the floor again, and quickly got to her feet, showing it to him without actually letting go of it. Clearly she was worried that he was going to take it away from her and keep it, and a feeling of dread began to pool through his veins.

“Why in the world did you get rid of that bad boy?” Daisy wondered, and Coulson pressed his lips together, groaning internally as he realized what the photo was.

Fury had taken this, while they were out in the field. They’d both been younger in those days, and far more green. More innocent, in a way, too. Coulson was posing next to an old friend, a friend he hadn’t seen in many years now, a friend that made him melancholy to look at now. She had her suit on, one hand on her hip, a smirk on her lips, large aviator sunglasses hiding some of her features. Coulson, decked out in one of his first ‘official’ black suits and a horribly-patterned tie, was grinning like an idiot.

Fanboying, caught on camera. And seriously - why did anyone let him wear that tie?

It wasn’t the tie that Daisy was pointing out, though. It was the facial hair that adorned Coulson’s upper lip. Not quite Tom Selleck, nowhere near Sam Elliott, he could still remember how stupidly proud he’d been of that moustache. Some of the other agents his age still couldn’t grow much facial hair, so couldn’t celebrate the newly-lax shaving rules the government and military had allowed. Coulson had known even then - and it was apparent in the photo - that ability to grow a decent beard on his jaw unfortunately meant that the hair on the top of his head probably wouldn’t last long. Damn genes.

But damn, to have the hair he had back then - he wouldn’t have complained so much if he’d known just how bald he was going to be.

“Uh-oh, you’ve got melancholy face going on,” Daisy lowered the photo. “Rough time in Baby Agent Phil’s S.H.I.E.L.D. days?”

“Actually,” Coulson admitted, “not so much. Those were good times. I mean, there were still bad guys and alien invasions and superheroes to wrangle, but, in some ways things seemed a little simpler back then.”

“Don’t they always...” Jemma mused.

“Sooo,” Daisy gave Coulson her patented eyebrow, and he steeled himself for the inquisition about to come. “Tell me - did Charm School Coulson come around along with the ‘stache, or as a recovery system afterward?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Coulson frowned petulantly at her.

“I mean, I can’t really tell with this half-suave, half-fanboying Phil here,” Daisy wiggled the photograph in the air. “So were you always a dork, and had to make up for the moustache, or did the ladies really dig it and you were always suave?”

“Coulson? Suave?” Jemma sucked her lips in to hide her smile, but failed at hiding it, and Coulson gave her a look. “I’m sorry, sir, I just... that moustache is uh...” She made a facial expression of distaste.

“What, are you kidding?” Daisy picked up on her tone, and turned to give her an incredulous look. “It’s a sad day in history whenever he shaved it off!”

“What?” Coulson blurted, at the same time Jemma said the same word but in disagreement,

“What...?”

“And your _hair_ ,” Daisy’s voice threatened to make that excited squealing noise again, and she clutched the photo close. “Can I keep this? It so does not deserve to live in a musty old box for the rest of its life,” Without waiting on anyone’s response, she tucked the photo into the back pocket of her jeans and began cleaning up the scattered papers and files on the floor, returning them all to the box. “Who’s the badass standing next to you there, by the way? You designed her suit, didn’t you. Can’t believe I’m not your first super-suit.”

“You-you know that I designed Steve Rogers’ - ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daisy waved her hand in the air distractedly as she hoisted the box up and propped it against her hip with one hand. “But I’m the one with _multiple_  designs.” She smirked proudly, but then hesitated. “Right?”

“I’ve... worked on many designs over the years, but the most that have come to fruition have been for you, yes.” Coulson admitted, and she beamed at him.

“So who’s the blonde?”

“You sound jealous,” Jemma grinned a little, and Daisy scoffed.

“Jealous of _Coulson_ , maybe,” She tried to play it off, awkwardly, and trailed off.

“That’s Carol.” Coulson answered, his tone warm as his mind was filled with fond memories. And some not-so-fond memories. He’d almost died so many times during that... rodeo. It had been his trial-by-fire, that’s for sure.

“ _Carol_ ,” Daisy repeated, “Oh, first-name basis, huh.”

“Jealous,” Jemma sing-songed.

“I’m just making an observation!” Daisy defended herself, and Coulson was curious to note the slight blush on her cheeks.

“She’s Kree.” Coulson blurted, and both women stared at him as their eyes grew wide with almost-comical slowness.

“She... what? You... Kree, Kree?” Daisy asked, and Coulson hesitantly nodded. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Daisy was going to ask a lot of questions that he couldn’t answer. “I - !” She cut herself off and set the file box rather hard atop a large black container insufficiently marked, and then began to pace. “You’ve _met Kree before_?”

“I... can’t really talk about it.” Coulson admitted lamely, and Daisy whirled to face him, incredulous again.

“You can’t talk about it?!” She repeated.

“Daisy,” Jemma piped in hesitantly.

“He can’t talk about it!” Daisy said to Jemma, who then gave a somewhat sympathetic glance to Coulson. Daisy focused back onto Coulson. “How come I’ve never seen this Carol person? She’s dressed like a superhero. Is ‘Carol’ a code name?”

“It was the nineties,” Coulson explained lamely. “Image capturing back then wasn’t what it is now. And it was much easier to manage, too.”

“You guys scrubbed her,” Daisy realized, and Coulson made a face.

“Have you not done that with Mary Sue? With Skye? With all of us, after the Hydra schism?” He pointed out. Daisy backed off a little bit, and gave him an apologetic look, realizing that she was getting a little too excited about stuff that had happened over two decades ago.

“Well...” It was clear that Daisy was still desperately curious about this mysterious Kree, but she dutifully let it go for now. “There’s no way in hell you’re destroying this beautiful thing.” She patted her pocket, and gave Coulson a little smile. Coulson sighed heavily, as if he were exhausted.

“Can’t you just forget you ever saw that?”

“Nope.” She popped her lips on the ‘p’. “You’ll have to throw me in the memory machine for that.” She nudged Jemma’s arm with her elbow. “Come on, let’s go show Mack!”

“Don’t you dare!” Coulson warned, but the ladies just snickered together as they slipped by him and strolled off down the hallway. Coulson looked back into the room, and sighed again, before stepping toward the file box Daisy had been perusing and tucked it under his arm.

If there were any files in here left from the Carol Danvers days, he’d better look through them. It was miraculous that Daisy hadn’t seemed to read any of the files too closely, or pick up on the vague phrases and code words in the reports. He was actually kind of happy that she'd gotten so distracted by his moustache.

"Seriously..." He shook his head as he walked down the hall. "I can't believe she _likes_  it." Curious, indeed.

**———**

Coulson knocked gently on the open door of Daisy’s quarters. She was just turning away from her desk as she noticed him, and she smiled and beckoned him in.

“Hey, Phil, what’s up?” He tried not to look too pleased by her use of his first name. In the beginning, it had been kind of weird to hear, but now he looked forward to it. Even though most of the time Daisy’s use of his name was in sass, he still loved the way it sounded on her lips.

Maybe a little too much.

“I need to head to D.C. for a meeting. Wondered if you wanted to join me.”

“Join you in the boring bureaucracy of being a publicly known government agency once again?” Daisy raised her eyebrow at him.

“Alright, so that’s not a great selling point - but how about the nice Italian place I know we’ll be nearby? They make excellent Marsala.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, casually rocking on his toes as he awaited her answer. She raised both eyebrows, this time.

“What’s the dress code?” She asked slowly.

“For the meeting? I imagine straight-laced skirts and stuffy suits,” Coulson mused, and Daisy rolled her eyes.

“For _the restaurant_.”

“Oh.” He then grinned a little, and answered, “It’s a nice place, but not cocktail hour or anything.” She still seemed to be considering his offer, and he added, “Consider it an incentive.”

“Incentive for what? Putting up with you for the last half-dozen years?” She snarked.

“Incentive for sitting with me through boring bureaucratic meetings.” He smiled sweetly at her, and she snorted.

“For that, I should be able to drive Lola again.” She muttered.

“That could be arranged,” Coulson answered without needing to take the time to think about it, and Daisy gave him a suspicious look.

“You’re taking Lola?”

“Of course I am. She hasn’t been out in a while, plus it’s never bad to show up in style.” Coulson pretended to haughtily inspect his fingernails, but inwardly beamed at the way Daisy’s face lit up. He’d always loved how Daisy loved Lola at least nearly as much as he did.

“Alright, it’s a date.” Daisy grinned. “When are we leaving? How long will we be in D.C.? I’ll need to pack - wait. Is this a date?” She asked suddenly.

Coulson swallowed, unsure if he wanted to reveal that part of his loosely-prepared plan, yet. He made to give her a coy look, figuring it was safe enough to be aloof about it, but then he noticed her collection of photos on the wall beside her bed.

“Is that me?” He blurted, and Daisy looked confused for a moment, following his line of sight. He stepped a little closer to the edge of her bed, peering at the various shots both candid and posed.

“There are a few of you in there,” Daisy replied slowly, not understanding his tone. “I started that years ago; I’ve got pictures of just about everyone.”

She did; there were even shots of people who’ve since passed, and a heartwarming number that included Hunter and Bobbi. He was staring at the worn photo of himself that didn’t quite fit in with the others, though. The picture from the file. She’d added it to her wall. Something about its presence there - even though it wasn’t the only photo of him in the collection - made him feel unnaturally warm inside.

It was even on the edge of the cloud of photos, closest to the mound of pillows at the head of her bed. Coulson wondered if that was on purpose, so she could reach it while she was laying there, if she wanted to.

“You know, if _that_  Coulson had kidnapped me from my van, I would’ve jumped him that first night on The Bus.” Daisy commented, and Coulson gaped in surprise, and then frowned.

“What - what - that, that Coulson _is_  me,” He returned hotly, mildly insulted, and Daisy shook her head.

“Yeah, but I mean _now_  I’d jump you because I love you. _Then_  I would’ve just done it because you’re attractive.”

“I’d - you - _what_?” Coulson was at a loss. Was Daisy saying that she’d like to jump him? Now? She loved him? No wait, he knew that she loved him. But how did she love him? Why did he suddenly feel like he was a teenager in high school again? ‘Do you want to be my girlfriend? Check yes or no’. Geez.

He looked toward the photo again, and for a moment seriously considered growing a moustache again. It would more than likely have more grey in it now. Would Daisy still find it attractive? Also, moustaches weren’t really in style for just anyone, anymore. It was very difficult to pull one off these days without getting the ‘pedo-stache’ comments from people. Plus it would just be incredibly awkward until it grew in properly. And moustaches tended to tickle. And you had to be careful how you ate and drank, too.

The possibility of Daisy liking it, however, overrode all of his concerns. Maybe...

“I can see this you with like, the James Brown moves.” Daisy mused thoughtfully, and he glanced at her in surprise, finding her pondering the photograph.

“I’ve _never_  been _that_  smooth.”

“Well,” Daisy announced, looking at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to define. “Brush up Phil Coulson, because we’ve got dinner plans, and I wanna see your moves.”

“My moves?” Coulson raised his eyebrow, and couldn’t help but smirk a little as he moved back toward the hallway. “I don’t think you could handle my moves.”

“Prove it.” Her smile widened as she shut her door between them, and Coulson stood there alone in the hall for a moment. His pulse raced with both anticipation and worry.

What did he just get himself into?

* * *

 


End file.
